


Sons of the Silent Age

by shadeofwrong



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Cold War, Espionage, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, bisexual Harry Hart is super important, sad rad spy dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 09:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4620939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeofwrong/pseuds/shadeofwrong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galahad deals with the trauma of a mission in Cold War Berlin, poorly. Merlin steps in to bring him back down to earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sons of the Silent Age

“Galahad, they're gone. You need to get to extraction.”

Harry could hear Merlin's voice crackling in his ear, but his feet rooted on the spot outside the darkened window of a tiny storefront. Bullet holes pocked the glass and shredded the German sale signs painted in drab colors. East Berlin couldn't afford vibrancy, but under the scrutiny of his flashlight, red decked the walls and the counter. His contacts, a brother and sister pair of smugglers named Ferdi and Carina, lay dead inside, he draped over the till and she sprawled on the floor. Ferdi's face hid behind the metal and a curtain of bloodstained hair, but Carina stared up at him from the floor through quickly greying eyes, several blossoms of blood, darker than her defiant lipstick, staining a new pattern onto the front of her peacoat. 

“Did Arthur know this was going to happen?” 

“I'm your handler, not his, Galahad, and you've taken enough of a risk going back for them. You need to move. _Now._ ” 

The barely restrained stress in Merlin's voice hit Harry's ear through clenched teeth and reminded him how to walk. He could hear police sirens in the distance, so after one last glance at the bodies in the shop, Harry vanished down an alleyway. 

Harry couldn't get one moment with Carina in particular out of his head. They slept together more than once early on in Harry's contact with the Essers. A good way to decompress, she told him, and defiant as he could be, Harry wouldn't argue with that.

One of the last times they did this, three years ago, they lay in her bed, watching the sun rise outside the window of her tiny flat. Harry almost drifted off to sleep until she rose beside him and walked to the window like she had fallen into a trance. The sun transformed her into a soft silhouette, and it pulled Harry under the spell too, along with the way that her dark brown hair fell down her back and pooled in curls at her shoulders. Even in shadow, he could see that wonderful red on her lips when she turned to look at him.

"I've watched the sun set behind the wall for as long as I can remember. I wonder what news it brings from the West today, hm?" Harry resisted the desire to reach out and touch her, not to pull her back to bed, but to make sure she didn't simply float out the window. "I'll blow it to smithereens one day. Fuck the business, if I could actually turn this direction and see the horizon for once."

Her conviction stirred him, but in the memory now, he could see pockets of sunlight passing through the bullet holes in her torso. 

Within twenty four hours, he stepped into the tailor shop. A tempest practically blew in behind him, both from the frosty late winter wind and the force with which he swung the door. Normally after a mission, Harry would put off his field report and collapse in his bed until his adrenaline crash wore off. Arthur ordered him to make an appearance, however, and Harry obliged if only so he could get his answers. With his coat slung over one shoulder and his jaw set, he found his way past the knights' briefing room and to Arthur's private office. He frowned to see the door already open, robbing him of the opportunity to storm through another. Courtesy didn't leave him, though, as he briefly rapped his knuckles against the frame before entering. 

Arthur waited behind his desk, and as soon as Harry appeared in front of him, he cleared away the papers he had been reviewing and gestured for Harry to sit. 

“Congratulations on another successful mission, Galahad,” he began placidly. “Despite your occasionally unorthodox methods, you've managed to release an innocent man back into the free world. Our intel indicates that East Germany is already scrambling for reasons to explain the sudden escape of one of their most controversially held political prisoners.” 

A professor from Canada caught distributing educational materials the Communist government labeled seditious-- his rescue had been the objective of the mission. Harry sighed hard through his nose; a good man being safe was important, of course, but-- 

“Thank you, sir,” he replied with a bit of edge to his voice that Arthur gave no indication of hearing. Harry knew better. 

“Your success is precisely why I'm going to give you a chance to explain your actions once Professor Addison crossed into West Berlin. Your orders were to move to your extraction point, but you apparently had unfinished business.” 

“That's correct, sir.” _You know bloody well_ \-- Harry bit back his anger. “My contacts required my assistance.”

“I sent down the order for you to leave them behind on the east side of the wall to cover your exit. You should have left it at that.”

“The Esser siblings have long provided Kingsman with assistance in East Berlin operations.” Harry heard his voice rising and couldn't keep his fists from clenching out of Arthur's sight. “Their information has always held water and they've been capable smugglers since I established contact with them.”

“Yes, in all your long years of service,” Arthur cut in. The faintest hint of dryness to his tone sent red flashing across Harry's vision. Five years couldn't be called a robust career just yet, but to still be treated like a greenhorn after all of them, even by Arthur, crept under his skin like torture needles. 

“Listen to me, Galahad. I have no doubt the Essers provided us with valuable service, but they were contacts, not our agents, and criminals at that.”

“Christ, Arthur. Criminals under an enemy regime!”

“Lower your voice, Galahad. You disobeyed orders to have a glance at some corpses. That's not how things are done.” 

“You didn't say the wall guard would be right on top of them. They weren't supposed to be scapegoats--”

“Oh, get a hold of yourself, boy,” Arthur snapped, finally matching Harry's volume. “If you want to cry like a girl over every contact you lose, maybe a home office job would suit you better.”

“Who the hell is going to want to be our contacts if we get them all fucking killed, sir?” 

“People like that are hardly in short supply, Galahad.” 

Harry stood abruptly, clenching his teeth. 

“Yes, people, for Christ's sake! Or have you forgotten what we all look like on the field up on your throne, old man?” 

Arthur rose swiftly from his seat, and brought his right hand with him. He delivered a hard backhand across Harry's face, knocking his agent's glasses to the floor. 

Merlin heard the blow echo through the audio feed on Harry's glasses, though for the first time since he started in Kingsman, he questioned what his ears told him. His own cheek stung just at the sound of it, so he could only imagine the pain Harry was in. The look on his face, on the other hand, Merlin pictured quite well from the tense silence over the line. Harry's pulse readings spiked, helping Merlin visualize his squared jaw, his tightly drawn lips, and the flame in his normally soft eyes. 

“Get the fuck out of my sight, you little prick,” he heard Arthur spit, even from the glasses' perspective on the floor. “And the next time you're called to duty, you'd better remember your bloody place.” Shuffling noises followed as Harry retrieved his glasses and sped out of the office. Despite his heart rate, the footsteps Merlin could hear weren't those of an abashed or frightened man. No, Arthur merely managed to make Harry more livid. After a few minutes, Harry's voice returned, clipped and a little breathless. 

“I suppose you heard all that, Merlin.” 

The inherent voyeurism of his position never really bothered Merlin, but Harry's tone made him feel like he'd been caught nicking from the tailor shop's till. 

“I did. You should remember to turn off your feed, Galahad.” 

“Please. It's the only way anyone would even believe what just fucking happened.” A hard sigh crackled into Merlin's ear. “Are you looking out for anyone tonight?”

“You're not thinking of squeezing in some extra field work, are you, sir?” Merlin replied wryly. It earned him another sigh, the kind Harry gave when he grew bored with titles. “No. I'm monitoring Tristan, but he isn't due to check in for another twenty hours. What do you need?” 

“Nothing appropriate to say on open air, but a pint or four might help. You up for it?”

It sounded like an invitation to be a babysitter, but Merlin could easily translate Galahad's English after knowing him this long. Harry Hart would never make an earnest request to talk sound more obvious than that. Merlin paused at his console for all of five seconds before heaving a sigh of his own. 

“Alright.” He'd only been appointed to this position for a year or so, and he fretted to leave the work, but when it was Harry pulling him away, when his best friend just found two people he trusted in an untrustworthy business dead because of his old mentor, he couldn't sit and do paperwork. 

“If I'm not at the lounge down the street from the shop, you know where to find me.” The feed went silent as Harry tucked his glasses away. 

It took about an hour for the shuttle from the manor to reach the tailor shop. Tension only left Merlin's shoulders when he noticed Arthur had gone home for the evening. Unlike Harry, he typically stayed respectful around his superiors no matter the circumstances, but after what he heard, he didn't quite trust himself to uphold that standard. In Kingsman, Harry's rebellious streak ran the widest, but he wasn't the only one to notice the cracks in Arthur's armor lately. The ripples resounding throughout Communist Europe had kept Kingsman incredibly busy, to the point where most of the agents burned their candles at both ends. Merlin noticed the crunch in all of them, even if not much changed for him. He'd always been somewhat addicted to work. Merlin suspected getting him away from it may have been an ulterior motive of Harry's. Part of Merlin wanted to linger and monitor Arthur to make sure the stress hadn't caused him to truly snap, but a much larger part worried more about Harry. 

Merlin almost breezed past the lounge Harry mentioned without even stopping. Sure enough, when he looked inside, his friend was nowhere in sight. The conversation they needed to have shouldn't be subject to public scrutiny. He continued on to the nearest underground station and headed off for Harry's flat. 

When he arrived, he heard Harry's dog scratching at the door before he even rang the bell. Harry opened the door with Mr. Pickle (Merlin still can't believe he named the bloody thing that) tucked under his arm, sniffing at the bottle of beer in his hand. 

“Times that rough that you're drinking draft, Galahad?” Merlin asked, unbuttoning his jacket. The cold spring air nipped at his neck for only a moment until Harry stepped aside and let him in. 

“What's the point of breaking out the scotch before the Scot gets here, Merlin?” 

The halfhearted jibe tips Merlin off more than anything else. Once Harry shooed the dog back to its bed in the kitchen, he put the bottle of Guinness to his cheek and stretched his jaw along the frosted glass. 

“Harry,” Merlin said, his voice lowering. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it in the foyer, but quickly moved to his friend's side without a sound. “You look like hell.” 

Harry looked at Merlin, able to hold his unflinching gaze for about half a second, then smirked weakly and sat down in his living room armchair.  
“Oh, I've looked worse. You know that better than anyone.” 

“I know that you've never been smacked silly by a superior.” Merlin leaned in and pushed aside the beer bottle so he could trace his fingers along Harry's jawline and inspect the damage. “You and Arthur have your history, but that's over the line.”

“The old bastard won't get away with it a second time, I promise you that,” Harry shot back balefully. He shook his head. “He'll try and smooth it over the next time we all meet. He knows you heard it and he's not going to risk his position over a fight with me, of all people.” 

“Eastern Europe is getting under his skin. Things aren't operating the way they did when he had run of the field anymore.”

“Nothing operates the way it used to, that's how the world fucking works.” 

Merlin frowned at Harry's sudden vehemence as he pulled away, taking the beer bottle with him. The glare Harry shot him didn't have nearly enough force to make him return it. Instead, Merlin sat in the chair opposite of Harry and popped the cap off. He took a long swig and waited for Harry to go on.

“I heard so many stories about him when I was in the recruiting process, you know. The best of us, and all that nonsense. Didn't seem like nonsense at the time, but that was before I had to listen to him talk. If Carina and Ferdi were diplomats or heirs he'd be sending his condolences by now. Instead I don't even know where their bodies are going to be buried.” Harry pursed his lips. “That wasn't their risk to take.”

Merlin wordlessly passed Harry the bottle, who promptly finished it.

“I should have gone back for them sooner. I know they're contacts, not agents, but we don't just make people cannon fodder.”

“Arthur made a bad call last night, Harry. Not you. I don't think he intended for the Essers to die, but it showed poor judgment. That's his cross to bear.”

“They don't have trust funds, so it'll be a light one.” Harry stood and fetched a decanter of scotch and poured out two glasses. “I must sound like an insufferable idealist. Maybe I should go up for a review after all.” 

Merlin sighed softly at Harry's self-deprecation. It listed among one of his most infuriatingly English traits. 

“You are an insufferable idealist, Harry.” Merlin joined Harry by the decanter so he could take his glass, but also so he could look his friend in the eye again. “One having a perfectly natural reaction to losing his friends.” He watched Harry's face contort into the grief he refused to show for half a second then switch back. Harry took on entirely too much responsibility whenever he went on missions. It made him into a deadly efficient Kingsman, but taxed his conscience, which Merlin saw as far more developed than most of the cynical men they worked with. At first, Merlin followed their lead. Then Harry came along, reckless, angry, unexpectedly compassionate, and using the stoic gentleman act as a cover instead of a moral absolute. 

“You can't shoulder everything, or you'll collapse under it.” Merlin's voice had become even softer than before. When he and Harry first became friends, Merlin found himself slowly enthralled by how seriously Harry took the duty of a knight compared to other recruits. At some point, after nights spent laughing at nothing and days spent in silent rat holes sniffing out terrorists, Merlin accepted that he would help Harry with that burden until one of them got put in the ground. He had his own convictions and reasons for being a Kingsman, his own desires to help others, but their goals could work together. Usually Harry seemed aware of that devotion, so Merlin, never a man of many words, left it unspoken. However, when Harry started to walk down this road of thought, Merlin questioned whether Harry really could read him that well. Then he felt Harry's head lean against his chest. 

“I know I can't save everyone. I wouldn't take back finishing the objective. I'm not that stupid. But this--” Preventable. Pointless. Merlin could see those words dancing on the tip of Harry's tongue even though only the top of his head was visible. Kingsman's code permitted lethal action in the case of stopping bigger, preventable losses, but Harry didn't break the code. If Merlin found a fiver every time Harry Hart blamed something on himself, he'd double his inheritance. Tonight, though, he understood. Merlin's only acquaintance with the Essers came through Harry's intel, but for Harry, they clearly meant much more than that. He sighed and wrapped his arms around Harry. Put upon as he sounded, Merlin didn't hesitate to calmly knead Harry's tense shoulder blades, hinting at all the hidden muscle beneath the suits he wore. He allowed Harry to anchor against him, heavy as a stone for once in his life. Merlin's chest ached to see Harry like this, even if he did offer himself to share the weight. Harry lifted his head and held Merlin's gaze this time. Without his field glasses, Merlin could see the exhaustion in Harry's eyes.

“What if it's you one day? If I didn't even have the foresight to prevent this, and you come back into the field with me--”

“You don't think I can handle myself?” Merlin interrupted, a little miffed. Harry grimaced. 

“No, of course you can. I'm just thinking--”

“Which you do far too much of--”

“We lose enough already, Merlin,” Harry cut back in, strength returning to his voice. Merlin bit the inside of his cheek. He brought his hand to Harry's face again, but instead of a brief clinical touch, he let it rest there. 

“I don't plan on dying yet, Harry. Least of all, to keep you from flagellating yourself about something else.” The smirk hid entirely in his voice, his face forever straight. It dared to quirk his lips when he saw Harry's droop into that damnable pout he couldn't look away from, so when Harry half opened his mouth to argue, Merlin kissed him instead. 

The space between them already shrank so that it didn't take much movement, just an inch and a tilt of the head. Harry still sighed like he'd been winded, the dramatic bastard, and a soft moan passed from his mouth into Merlin's-- the remains of whatever he planned on bickering about. Harry's hand reached up grabbed hold of the side of Merlin's sweater, balling the fabric into his fist. Merlin brushed his tongue across Harry's lips and pulled away, or tried to, until Harry's other hand curled around the back of his head and kept him close. Their breath mingled in the silence. Harry's fingers ran idly through Merlin's thinning hair.

“Been a while since you've won an argument that way,” he muttered. Harry's eyes stayed on Merlin's mouth, while his other hand searched for the hem of his friend's sweater. Maybe a year or so, Merlin tried to recollect, since the last time he allowed himself to act this indiscreetly. It didn't matter much to him now that they plunged into the thick of it again. Normally, they danced around this, too busy with work or even other lovers, or too concerned of what might happen should a relationship between two Kingsman agents be discovered. Like they'd discussed, Arthur was an archaic shit. 

“Shrugging off protocol isn't like you,” Harry continued with a mischievous grin obnoxious enough to inspire Merlin to shove him against the nearest wall. He controlled himself, but the thought sent shivers up his spine as much as Harry's voice in his ear did. 

“Do you really think I give a fuck about protocol right now?” Merlin almost growled back. Not tonight, not after what he heard. Not with Harry's hand creeping under Merlin's sweater and getting dangerously close to his hammering heart, and not when Harry needs him as much as Merlin wants this. For the first time since he got back from his mission, Harry laughed. A quiet, airy chuckle that seethed between his lips, but a laugh all the same. Merlin almost let his chest puff out with pride at that, but he didn't get the chance as Harry kissed him this time, harder and with a bump of his hips against Merlin's. Merlin squirmed under that too many times to mistake it as an accident. He grabbed Harry's waist and held him there, pressing back remorselessly. Harry grunted, but instead of allowing it to break the kiss, he captured Merlin's lower lip between his and sucked softly, looking up at him with hooded eyes. Merlin didn't notice he started fiddling with Harry's belt buckle until just then, but the realization didn't stop him. Harry drifting down to his neck almost did, his lips ghosting along Merlin's jawline until his teeth lightly scraped at Merlin's throat instead. Merlin's mouth opened, but any noise he attempted trapped itself under Harry's ministrations. 

Time blurred from there. Merlin didn't count how many minutes they spent fooling around on Harry's sofa, how long it took for them to get up the stairs without letting go of each other, or how much effort it took for him to open the door to Harry's bedroom with Harry's hand pressed firmly against the hardness outlined by Merlin's trousers. Neither of them stayed quiet after that, but Merlin also lost track of who shouted for who. Merlin memorized every inch of Harry since they met, and now it all came crashing back into him. Harry seemed just as keen on reacquainting himself with more than Merlin's attitude, and with just the two of them, Merlin didn't hide how much that pleased him.  
Sweat cooled on Merlin's brow eventually, and Harry rested on top of him in his bed. His tousled hair always quite the sight, Merlin buried his fingers in the thick curls and tamed it as best he could in the dark. 

Harry just hummed in enjoyment at first, then looked up at Merlin, his chin pressed to the torso beneath him. 

“Envious?”

Merlin didn't reply, only squeezed Harry's ass with his free hand, hard. Harry scoffed and bit Merlin's collarbone in retaliation until they both laughed breathlessly and Merlin covered Harry's face with his palm to shove him away. Harry rose from the bed and moved on his typical cat's feet to the window. He opened it, allowing the distant sounds of inner London and the cool night air to float in. Merlin watched him from the bed, observing Harry's pale form-- save for a few red marks Merlin's grip left behind-- contrast against the deep blue of the night sky. He reached into his nightstand, digging beneath his copy of the Sun's inane headline of the day for a lighter that didn't double as a grenade and his cigarettes. Merlin didn't tut like he normally would. At least Harry had the good manners to let it outside, nor did he do it nearly as much as he used to. 

“Do you think we could change things, Merlin?” 

“Change what?” 

“All this... tradition bollocks. You know the table in the meeting room used to be round?”

“The original burned in the Blitz, yes.” 

“But that was tradition worth keeping, and they didn't. Instead we've got the invisible aristocracy requirements, the acting above the people we're supposed to help.” 

Merlin almost told Harry he was thinking too much again, but he closed his mouth as soon as it opened. As much as Harry's thoughts could be motivated by emotion instead of logic at times, they held truth to them. That, and Harry trusted Merlin to understand. _We_ , he said. 

“That can't change overnight, Harry.” 

Harry nodded impatiently and flicked his cigarette out the window. 

“I'm proud to be a Kingsman. No one should think otherwise. But more than just the upper crust should have the chance to be proud too, shouldn't they?”

Merlin didn't answer at first, just rolled over in the bed to get closer to Harry and grab his hand. He pulled Harry on top of him again, and once Harry braced himself, his hands on either side of Merlin's head, Merlin grabbed his wrists. His caressing fingers contradicted his tight grip. 

“Can you learn to be patient?” he asked.

“I'm perfectly patient,” Harry snapped back, but his frown completely disarmed when Merlin sighed and traced his thumb along the inside of Harry's wrist. 

“You're bloody stubborn, but if anyone can use that as a substitute, it's you.” 

“Merlin,” Harry gasped with feigned incredulity. “That sounded suspiciously like a compliment.” Merlin easily flipped Harry on to his back with every intent to silence his stupid snickering. 

***

_Freddie Star Ate My Hamster._ It figured that the headline Harry pinned in his office for a mission he'd rather forget would become one of the Sun's most infamous. Merlin set it down in the shoebox full of them he took when he and Eggsy cleared out the rooms in the flat the new Galahad inherited from the old. Eggsy kept a few of his favorites that Harry got the chance to explain to him, but Merlin took the rest with little fanfare. When Eggsy asked what he would do with them, Merlin's lie that they needed to be disposed of for security reasons was probably the worst he ever told, and it showed in the skepticism on Eggsy's face. Still, Eggsy didn't say anything. If Merlin wanted to keep his memories private, he wasn't going to push. 

Funny now that damn headline reminded Merlin of Eggsy, too: the fruit of the ideas Harry started gestating around that time. The box of papers soon found their way into a small safe Merlin kept hidden behind the wardrobe in his bedroom, the one in the converted stable house on the Kingsman manor grounds, not his flat in London. He stayed here when he trained recruits, and when he raised any straggling dogs. Harry always visited when they were around. A sliding door in the kitchen led out to a meadow where the dogs liked to run wild in the morning, and as much as Merlin tried not to remember it, hated himself for doing so, he could hear Harry laughing from the window, driving Merlin's German shepherd mad by playing fetch with him using sticks buried in the tall weeds. 

The last time, only a few months ago, Harry slipped back in that door while Merlin sipped his coffee. Half out of breath and with a grin on his face, he leaned over Merlin's shoulder from the back of his chair. That grin changed over the years, Merlin noted at the time, softened and not as seedy, but still mischievous. Merlin looked up at him with a frown that didn't meet his eyes, and that vanished when Harry kissed him softly. A bit sour from sweat, but the sweet smell of grass filled Merlin's senses, even as he slapped Harry's hand away from his coffee mug. 

Merlin sat in the kitchen alone now. Only when his dog arrived to rest his head on his owner's knee did Merlin realize that smell of grass made his eyes sting. The dog whined and looked towards the door, then licked Merlin's hand and nudged his head against his leg. 

“I know,” Merlin muttered. He stroked his dog's head, soothing it as much as it tried to soothe him. “I miss him too.”

**Author's Note:**

> WOW I SPENT TOO LONG ON THIS but if you want to leave feedback, I'd really appreciate it, re: characterization, historical inaccuracies, whatever! I have so many feelings about these two and if you made it to the end of those you deserve a medal tbh
> 
> I will intermittently edit this so don't mind any minor changes.


End file.
